Am I Crazy?

Sometimes I wake up 
          and feel like I’m drowning
And no one knows 
          the troubles I’m downing 
Like glasses of water
          inside my head
The tears have welled up
          underneath eyelids
Can’t I go back now
          to when we were kids
Away from this nonsense 
          that’s all too real

Let’s start over

Start over


Start over. 

Daisies and love?

He loves me.... He loves me not.... He loves me... He loves me not.... He loves me! 

Oh I think that was two petals...

Uuuuuuugh!

Do I even love him?

Is this a crush or deeper? 

How is a daisy supposed to tell me that?

Or predict his mind for that matter....

My heart and brain are so separate from me.

They make choices on their own,

And then make me fight about them internally. And so these poor flowers end up petal-less.

This daisy is supposed to make up my mind for me, but then my heart is left out. 

I don't think I want to play this game anymore. 

I think, just one more daisy....

He loves me... He loves me not...

Almost first kiss.

      As it got closer to Christmas time, I found out that Anonymous Guy had never seen the lights at temple square. I'd been on a few dates with Anonymous Guy before, so after checking with a friend if she could go on a date to see the lights, I invited Anonymous Guy on a date. For the sake of easier story telling, let's call him Bob. About a week or so later, Bob, a couple friends, and I are in Salt Lake City and after a minor fiasco, we find a place to park, get out and start walking. Of course it's cold so Bob's being nice holding my hand to "keep it warm" and I'm having a great time laughing and talking with my friends. It's important to note that Bob was the first guy I'd been on more than one date since I'd turned 16 a few months before, so I was feeling pretty special.
      A couple of blocks and a few lit up trees later, we reach Temple Square. The four of us are walking along, laughing and having good time, but we all pause at the reflection pool in front of the temple and look at the glowing, floating orbs and the nativity scenes. Bob, still holding my hand, looks over at me and says "Rachel?". I look over at him and he has this serious look on his face, but he also looks really confused, as he grabs my other hand. I had NO clue what was going on. So I'm standing there in this beautiful place, a nice, good looking guy holding my hands, looking in my eyes and all I can say is "yes?...." His mouth is moving up and down like a sad little fish. I can tell he's trying to say something, but I'm just getting more confused (remember, I'm 16).
      Just then, my friend comes over and grabs my elbow. She drags me away saying "come look at this!" so over my shoulder, to Bob, I say "tell me later alright?" and I go look. About and hour later, we are looking at this ginormous tree and I ask him "what were you going to say earlier?"  Bob is still looking up at the tree, doesn't even look at me, and says "oh, well I was going to kiss you, but... I changed my mind." Just says it, like it's no big deal.
Immediately a few thoughts run through my head:

1. Bob was going to kiss me?!
2. Bob was going to kiss me?!
3. Bob was going to kiss me?!
4. Well he isn't going to now, so that's that.
5. I'm not as sad as I probably should be,,,, I guess I didn't want him to....

So, I let go of his hand (because he had started holing my hand again) and went over to where my friend was a few yards away. We talked and laughed and had fun the rest of the night but for some strange reason *insert sarcastic tone there* I was a little frustrated. 

      Later that night, he was dropping me off, and I thank him and go inside. He must not have actually wanted to kiss me because he didn't try again. Either that, or I'm a lot scarier than I thought because two years later, that's the closest I've come to my first kiss.

Beauty is Not Quantifiable

Beauty is not the number on the scale. 
Beauty is not the size of the jeans you just bought on sale.
Beauty is not the color of your hair. 
Beauty is not what brand of clothes you wear.

Beauty is not quantifiable, 
even though society thinks its views are justifiable.
Beauty is not the model on the cover, 
even though many girls wish they were her.

Beauty is in smiling for a stranger, hoping they'll pass on the favor.
Beauty is the light in our eyes when one of our friends gives us a surprise.
Beauty is the charity we give, hoping those people will do the same as they live.
Beauty is in the moments we share, spending time with those who care.

Beauty is not quantifiable,
Beauty is in every moment that we make memorable.

And every day of our lives, others values are shoved in our eyes.
Forced in our ears and into our minds, there isn't a societal view I could justify!
You see, their views aren't real, that's not who we are.....
As people we feel. We feel with our hearts!

That's what Beauty is.
Not the model on the cover.
And yet, every day, more girls want to be her.
But what I want you to see, and what I need you to know, is that Beauty isn't skin deep.
It's just not that shallow.

Beauty isn't quantifiable because beauty can be found inside every soul.
The smile we give, the light in our eyes, every day as we live, as we live our lives!
To give that friend one more surprise.
Those moments and glimpses into the soul...

That's what makes beauty unquantifialbe.

Addicted

Have you ever gotten addicted to a book? The characters pull you in and you no longer remember that there is a world outside of that book. You are the characters. You see in your mind's eye the vivid colors and impossible settings that surround them. You are no longer you. You are them.

Have you ever gotten lost in a book? You're trapped inside and you whole soul is held captive. All that you can imagine, is what is written on the page, and what your mind is creating from the words. A whole new world can be created in one sentence. In your mind you can see trees with gold leaves against a burgundy sky that seems so real you are shocked to see ours blue.

Have you ever become part of the book? You are the protagonist. No longer yourself, you have no independent feelings or thoughts. You are gone while you read because you have ceased to exist. You're confused when the book is over and the spell is finished. You have to come back to yourself because the story has ended.

No wonder the pen is mightier than the sword. When words are powerful enough to create worlds in our heads and transform us into new people, it's no wonder we escape into them. Because once you've experienced what it's like to become someone else, you're addicted to the sensation of reading.

ME

I have re-written this post..... three times.

So this is the fourth.

and I guess what I really want to say is this:

Thank you to Eva Nine for hiding me.

Thank you for reading this.

and yes, thank you Nelson for the prompts.

I always write for my sanity

 but my poems aren't always about me.

I just write.

Sometimes I write gibberish

laoisdvnaoitnaslkvlaiurfjsxdvokjwofoakjfjx

igaohgldgksuihgksgksiugavjazsdgkasdvkksj

hjdnvjbskjfknaksjdvksjgkskjdbgjksbdgflslijs

and sometimes I make way too much sense.

I'm crazy and weird in a (mostly) good way.

I like green skittles, 

and blue m&m's taste different than the other colors.

I watch documentaries 

and romantic comedies 

and Bollywood 

and action flics 

and Disney

I listen to classical

and indie

and 80's

and acapella

and whatever is on the radio

I LOVE reading. A lot. 

I couldn't list those.

Basically.... I'm just me.

Not really Eva Nine, 

Rachel Emily Wagner

"broken is not the same and unfixable"
a quirky little robot in the book i'm reading said that.
she was talking to a cyborg,
i'm talking to humans. like me.

humans who are broken and lost
humans who have hidden behind their pen name
humans who used that name to fix themselves
humans who have finally broken that barrier
humans who are now free

i have been searching and looking.
hidden behind the name Eva Nine,
my quest has given me freedom.
freedom to find my broken parts.

parts i thought were unfixable.

Eva Nine hid me on this quest.
i casted and rewired and stitched.
and now that the bleeding is stoped,
i can free myself and be more....

human.

i have found myself, or at least my writing style,
behind the pen name of Eva Nine.
she went on her quest, through her book,
and i went on my quest of high school.

What's lost?

I use my imagination 

to ignore the degradation 

of people and places,

too many blank faces.

I think with my brain 

and to drown out the rain 

of tears, I shut off my heart

and seal off my art-

eries of blood, and love 

flies too quick. Push and shove.

I can't seem to think

with all this noise, and drink-

ing water doesn't make my

headache go away. I try

too hard to think and feel-

ing takes second place, the wheel

keeps on turning and each day 

brings a new face my way. 

scared of my heart

one side perfect, one malformed

one side shown, the other scorn

don't let them see

because, it's not pretty

they judged me for too long to come close to understanding

I simply gave up because they are so demanding.

so I changed for them, and gave them what they wanted.

no longer me anymore; something more "perfected".

they were scared of my confidence and beauty

so they took their words to scrape away my identity

until my perfect heart became the malformed one they liked,

and as my identity became their puppet, I cried and cried.

I Need Replacements

My arm has stopped working
My brain is shut down
My legs go where they want
My feet have no direction
I need replacements

My hands are calloused
My nose runs and runs
My knees are always bruised
My toes get blisters from dance
I need replacements

My heart is hurting
My soul is aching
My imagination left
My love's run out
I need replacements

I need replacements
But I'm attached.
I like my fingers 
and toes
and bones.

I need replacements
But I am attached
I love my heart
and soul
and mind
and life.

I can't replace them.
They don't just get swapped out.
Maybe my liver, or a leg,
but a broken heart?

I'm not a robot. 
My heart scares me
It beats most of the time
And skips some once in a while
And loves people that it shouldn't 
But I'm attached. 

I need replacements
But I'm attached.

Never too old

too old for dancing in the rain and standing in the rivers
the rivers that flow and grow on the street
the street that I coulda grown up on, but didn't
didn't take the chance to dance last time

time is running out and I can't stand
stand to grow up and still be told
told that I can't because I'm too old.

Too old to be watching Disney
Disney still lets me dream
dream as the stars gleam late at night
night is my Disney get-away time

time is running out and I can't stand
stand to grow up and still be told
told that I can't because I'm too old.

too old for climbing in trees

trees that I can finally reach

reaching for the next branch to climb

climb away from my lost time

time is running out and I can't stand
stand to grow up and still be told
told that I can't because I'm too old.

old in body but young in my mind

my mind is crammed with all of this junk

junk acquired from growing up

growing up and out of time

time is running out and I can't stand
stand to grow up and still be told
told that I can't because I'm too old.

calculus ate my crayons

I want to skip work in the future so I took calculus.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
Because high school is hard but "college is harder"
and all I want is to fit in, get good grades, and move on.

when we were little, no body really cared about fitting in,
although we did want to skip as much work as we could,
an A student could be friends with a kid who barely came, and not care.
there was no such thing as a clique in kindergarten.

But now my over achieving brain has been hard wired
to follow the made up social rules that Nohbody made up.
I have to type my assignments now which takes twice as long.

No. Not anymore. I want my crayons and markers.
I want to be able to mark on a page without taking notes
I want to be able to color and not have to turn it in.
And I want to color outside the lines.
I want to go back to kindergarten.

Scratch that. I want preschool.
Home-schooled preschool.
Where my sister taught me to read
and I learned the color red
when I fell out of her wheelbarrow
and scraped my knee.

But even though I promised my mom I wouldn't

I grew up.

I wish I could've kept that promise.
Maybe if I had colored just a bit more
refused to let go of my crayons when the teacher said so
Maybe then, just maybe, I wouldn't have grown up.

But I did.

I think fifth grade is the last year I brought class school supplies.
and I remember that crayons weren't on the list.
That's also when the cliques started.
Fifth grade changed everything.

our teachers said no more crayons,
it's time for math now. and foolishly

so foolishly

we listened.

I want to go back.
Back before I had to fit in.
Back before math became important.
Back before I lost my self in the sameness of school.
Back before calculus ate my crayons.

Back before spelling mattered and
back to when I could turn in my assignments
in a color other than blue or black ink.
No Times New Roman, 1.5 margin, MLA format.
Three different colors of crayons.
Sentences about nothing that meant everything.

I want my crayons and I want my childhood.
But the adults ate them.

Kollossel: Vocabulary

This will be updated with each chapter (no sneak peeks) hope this helps

• Acklells (ack-lulls) - stars
• Blakm Forest (block-mm) - a forest of walking trees with black bark and muddy green leaves.
• Cantava (can-toe-va) - feared Mopi outcasts
• Knocks - wind measurement; each knock is equivalent to 5 mph
• Kollossel (coal-lo-sell) - the name of the planet the Mopi live on
• Mopi (moo-pie) - Koni's species
• Napi - grandmother on maternal side
• Sensory Stands - Mopi equivalent of hair. About the thickness of dreadlocks, sensory strand help take in the surroundings. Similar to whiskers in function.
• Ticks - temperature measurement; each tick is about 10 degrees Fahrenheit

The boy with the Bricks

I want to get some bricks and build a house with you.
When we grow old together inside, we will build memories that last.
When we get tired of the view, we can fly it to the moon.
You'll heal my broken heart and remove the cast.
And maybe if I am lucky I'll be able to heal yours too.

I want to take these bricks and throw them, they aren't special now that you've left.
Instead of removing the cast on my heart, you laughed, and added another layer.
Now that I'm home alone, I put on some white noise so I don't feel bereft.
Whatever, these legos are more fun to throw at you, you...you..you player!
That's just what I tell myself hoping the pain will seal my heart cleft.

I wanted to build a house with you and fly it to the moon.
You told me those dreams were for little kids,
That you were a grown up without dreams now too.
And our fourth grade romance was gone when I opened my eyelids.
My imaginary bricks didn't stand a chance to a summer sky of blue.

But then I looked up and there you were, eyes full of tricks,
A little older now, a little wiser, with an armful of bricks.


.

Kollossel: Chapter One

     My feet just might fall off. I have been standing here forever! Literally. Okay, well, maybe not literally, but 16 hours feels like forever. This line is endless. How am I supposed to get to the front before the next sundown if I cannot even see the end that I was standing at, or the beginning where I want to be? Actually, I'm pretty sure that the line only got longer because people got here after me, and I haven't actually moved at all. My mom says that we have moved five feet in the last 30 minutes but it's hard to believe her. 
     On top of all of this, the weather is punishing. This morning it was 100 ticks with the wind blowing at 50 knocks, which makes the sensory strands on my head blow everywhere, and now its -40 ticks and the fog is rolling in like a wall, soon I won't be able to see at all. My weather adaptive clothing is not shifting as well after going through 20 shifts while I've been in line. 
     Luckily it's almost time to go to sleep. After standing here for four hours, the next two will seem short. Hopefully. I never knew that our short 6 hours of sunlight could feel so long, or that our 6 hours of rest could feel so short. I've always felt that they were the same length, twelve hour days split in equal halves. But then again, nothing on Kollossel is as it seems. 

......

     As kids on Kollossel everything seems to fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. As we grow up, about a third of the way through our lives, we start to realize the little things that are off in the world. The first thing I noticed was that they taught us what the color red should look like, but there wasn't anything red anywhere. I looked. The next thing I noticed was that there were no birds. Or royal family. My teachers were telling the class about a beautiful parade in which we would be able to see the royal family. After hearing this every year, and every year being disappointed when I would be told an excuse as to why it wouldn't happen, I began to think there wasn't a royal family at all. And I was right. That's why I'm standing in line with all the other 12th cycle students and a parent of their choice. I'm waiting to be told why. And I'm starting to think that even this is something wrong. because that tree moved five feet, not me. My foot has been crushing the same oroboro flower since I got here. 

......

     "Koni, we're moving up again!" Every parent in line says something just like this to their own child. And just like me, every other kid in line looks down at their un-moving feet, and then back at the trees to watch them move past. In my eyes, my mom looks ridiculous, with her four marching tentapods, as she pretends to move in line and yet move nowhere. How is she blind to all of this? 

     When I first started noticing that things didn't quite line up, my mom told me that she went through the same thing at my age. She told me that she would wait with me in line, and that when we got to the end together, she would be able to explain everything. That I would finally see the birds, and the color red, and the royal family. Now as I stand here in line, I'm getting more and more hesitant. Not only because this could be just one more thing wrong on Kollossel, but also because, what if how my napi explained everything to my mom won't work for me? What then? Will I become a Cantava? I do not want to be a Cantava. 

......

     When my friend Classi told me about the Cantava, I thought he was messing with me. Then my parents told me that they were real. The rejects who live in the wastes and roam the blakm forest. Growing extra eyes, because five isn't enough for them apparently, and a tail. It is said that the Cantava need them to be able to survive in the wastes and forests. I wouldn't mind having a tail so much, but I really do want to see the color red. I want to hear a bird sing and see the Klarapa family that supposedly rules over our planet. 

     If I ever told my mom my inner musings, she would tell me the same thing she always does, that I need to trust in the system and that in all due time the acklells will align and I will know. What I want to see most though, is if there is a red moon hanging in the sky among the acklells that I've never seen because I can't see the color red. I can see the blue, green, lavender, and black moons just fine, so what if there is a red one? 

     I guess I have till sundown tomorrow to make it to the front of the line and find out. Hopefully, then my mom will tell me. 

Falling

Falling is scary.
That stomach turning, brain scrambling feeling of dropping that wake you up in the middle of the night and makes you feel like you've just dropped off the ceiling.
That's scary.
But that's not the kind of falling talking about.

Not the: I'm jumping off a cliff into a lake and I'm terrified but having a whole lot of fun at the same time kind of falling.

And not the: I just said something wrong and I'm falling into a whole that I'm going to be climbing out of for a while kind of falling either.

Nope.

I'm talking about the kind of falling that requires someone there to catch you.
The kind of falling where only one person can catch you,
Because, if they don't, you are in danger of hogging the couch with some ice cream and Netflix hoping that the next time, if there is one, you wont be dropped.

I'm talking about the kind of falling that makes everyone wonder if there is something wrong with them that makes them so hard to catch.

I'm talking about the falling that can feel like the greatest thing in the world.
No,scratch that, the universe!

But the worst at the same time.

This ins't the wake you up from a nightmare feeling like you dropped from the roof, or cliff jumping, or social stumbling kind of falling.

This kind of falling is rare and beautiful and terrifying beyond belief.
It makes you laugh and cry and scream and then laugh some more.
It's the kind of falling that everyone longs for.

Because really, what is love but one big fall.

No Words

I'm lacking in inspiration.

I'm not sure what to write.

I want to make a statement,

Say something powerful!

But I haven't yet and 

Therein lies my frustration.

There are no words.

Nothing is coming.

Zip.

Zero.

Zilch.

Well yes, smarty pants, those are words.

But don't you see? I have major writers block!

I can't write about how world hunger makes me sick,

I can't write about how racism boils my blood.

I can't write about how I stopped watching the news because every time I did, all I saw was the hate and anger and suffering of the world, and I am trying to find the wonderful in it all.

I can't write about how frustrating the world is with all of it's big issues caused by grown ups who like to tell us kids that its our job to grow up and fix everything so they can retire comfy.

I can't write about how different the world would be if everyone just shared like in kindergarten where we all had crayons and paper and everyone was our friend.

I can't write about any of the big issues because my writers  block is so bad that I couldn't even write about how frustrating auto-correct is! 

I have no words for all of the things going on inside my head. 

No words for the ideas that might somehow be able to fix something.

No words.

None.

My Knight

Because I fell and tripped again, he kindly stopped for me.

Extended a helping hand, and brought me to my feet. 

We walked slowly, he knew no haste, to my next class we went. 

He was tardy just for me,

He's imaginary.

Hats

I don't want to stand out from the mindless crowd of peers.
I'm wearing this hat to hide my thoughts from them.

I keep dancing my way through life, hoping to hide.
But nothing hides me better than this hat.

Boom boom clap! The song reflects my heartbeat,
and I can't hide anymore because somewhere along this dance, I dropped my hat.

Everyone can see me now, sitting on this desk,
so I stare out the window at the snow, and pretend I don't care.

Now that I'm not hiding,
I find it's harder to just sit and observe because everyone can see me now.

And I find my self standing at a podium delivering words that everyone else discovered,
words that I'm realizing have been here all along.

I was just to busy hiding under this hat. I'm still not used to not hiding.
Maybe it's time to make some friends who actually know me.

Not just my hats.

Flowers

If roses are red, and violets are blue, then why are some pink and lavender too?

I used to wish I was a flower. And then I was told dandelions were weeds.
Unwanted and despised. Their cheerful yellow faces, uprooted or sprayed.
Abused because they grow of their own will power.

I used to want to be a flower. Then I was told that the only pretty roses were red.
But purple roses are my favorite. So what does that make me?
Not a Valentine's bouquet or anything special. Just a flower.

I realized one day, that I am a flower. But I'm unique.
I'm not a red rose or a blue violet.
I am the weedy dandelion who just want to grant a wish.
I am the smiley happy daisy that grows in the cracks of the sidewalks.
I am the out-of-place lavender rose in a rose bouquet full of reds.

I am me. I am a flower.

Moving On

I thumbs-ed down your favorite song on Pandora today. I never thought I would get this far. I guess I've finally walked far enough away to start closing the hole in my heart. You hollowed me out when you left that way. Though I would never love again. Thought I would never feel anything again.

I was happy today. I almost went a whole day without thinking about you. When you yelled at me that way I though the words you said were true. But I looked in the mirror this morning and almost like what I saw. Your words hit me harder than you hands. Is this how all fathers treat their baby girls?

I went to my friend's house today. When her father gave her a hug, she didn't look like she was waiting for the egg shells to crack. then he gave me a hug and it was so full of fatherly love. He must've seen the surprise in my eyes.

You called today. It's the first time we've talked since you left. I cried. I yelled. I SCREAMED at you. And yet, I'm still terrified of the man who was supposed to walk me down the aisle.

Mom got married again today. Already he's a better dad. Of course, you'll always be my father, I can't change that, but how could I have ever called you dad when you hurt me the way you did?

I turned 16 today. It's been a year and a half since you left. I'm still scared of you. I live in another state now, and I'm still scared. Why do your abusive words replay in my dreams? Why would you ever say those things to your baby girl?

I told my heart to move on today. I also decided to move on yesterday. And I'll say the same thing tomorrow, because 14 1/2 years of hurt is quite a lot to move on from.

I'm 17 now. I'm still scared of you.

Mirrors

A shiny plate of silver, behind a pane of glass.
That's all a mirror is. It's views don't really last.
Mirrors can't reflect what others see in you.
Warping what's beautiful is all they really do.

You're freckles are precious to me, but the mirror says they're ugly.
"Cover 'em up" it says. "Put on some make-up" it says.
"You have to look like her, cuz she's prettier" it says.

But that's not what I say.
I'm telling you, "You're gorgeous!"
Can't you see? Don't you believe me? I

 don't see the acne or the stray or gray hairs.
I don't see the line by your eyes that the mirrors say reach your ears.
What I see are the moments when hands of love have touched your face,
and left those little red dots you don't need to erase.
What I see are the times you've pulled your hair and been stressed so much because you care.
What I see are the moments when your laugh lit up your eyes and made them rival the stars in the skies. Those lines are records of memories that are so precious to you and me.

So next time you look in the mirror, just remember, it's only silver and glass.
It can't reflect your level of class.
Your beauty and elegance and grace soar above,
and those are the parts of you that I love.

Mirrors would have you think that your reflection is the absolute truth.
That what you see, is what others see too. But that's not true.
Mirrors aren't right. They are silver and glass. They only reflect light.

Mirrors can't show you what I see.

Oh how I wish you could see what I see.

My thoughts make no sense

I love thinking and writing. So I write what I think. Does that make sense? Good. Because the rest of this may not. 

Years ago I found a book called "The Search for WondLa" and as I read it I fell in love. 

The fantastical world that Eva explored sounded awe inspiring, terrifying, exhilarating, and debilitating. 

I wanted to go! 

Walking trees, cities on lakes, a giant water bear that basically flys.... I wanted to go. Like I said, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but to a 14 year old who's life was falling apart, it was perfect. I still want to go. This honored title belongs high on the list of my favorite books, next to "Pride and Prejudice", "Entwined", and "Fablehaven". Eva Nine is brave, smart, curios, a little sassy, innocent, and all around fantastic. Basically, who I wished I was at 14.

Now I'm older than the heroine of the story, but I don't care. She's still my favorite. Wacky braids, freckled nose, random collection of stuff, mismatched boots and all. So it may no make sense to you why I chose a 14 year old fictional heroine to be my pen name, but it makes sense to me. 

You can stop making a confused face now. I'm not explaining anymore. I'm done.





Seriously stop scrolling.










I'm done.